


Trouble

by Tipper



Category: Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: Character Study, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-16
Updated: 2009-11-16
Packaged: 2017-10-03 03:32:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tipper/pseuds/Tipper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a short character story.  This should take place several days following the events in One Day Out West.  In other words, the boys are still getting to know each other and the town is still getting to know them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trouble

Answer to a challenge: write a story inspired by a song (but not a songfic). I used "Trouble" by Pink, mostly because of the line "and my fingers are bejeweled" -- kept thinking about those fat jade and ruby rings Ezra wears occasionally.  
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_Conklin: "We don't want your kind in this town. You bring nothing but trouble!"  
Vin: "Can't be worse than what you already got."_  
(from One Day Out West)  
____________________________________

Ezra looked down at his right hand, at the ruby ring, and blew on it, shifting to polish it against his jacket. A moment later, the same hand ran down the front of his richly embroidered waistcoat, patting the thick wad of bills in the pocket. A quirk of a smile at the man facing him, and the hand drifted further down to his right hip, brushing back the tails of the handsome red coat.

It came to a rest on the butt of the Remington strapped to his right thigh.

He smiled more, his gold tooth flashing in the sunlight.

The other man's eyes narrowed, having watched the whole performance with a sneer.

"Well, Mr. Morrison," Ezra drawled, "your move."

Ezra and Shepherd Morrison, another fairly recent resident of Four Corners, were facing each other in the street outside the saloon. Morrison had--after losing the bulk of his money at the poker table--accused Ezra of cheating at cards. Ezra responded by, at first, belittling him, and then outright laughing in Morrison's face. Morrison naturally took affront. He called Ezra out. Ezra had obliged with a shrug.

Everyone in town knew by now that Ezra was fast with his fists, his show in the saloon before he'd ridden out to the Seminole Village was proof enough of that, but it was the first time they'd seen him draw down on someone. Morrison, on the other hand, no one knew at all.

A few of the townsfolk stayed inside, either concerned about stray bullets or simply refusing to watch another killing. The rest, which was most of the town, crowded the boardwalks, leaning against posts and railings. Some stood on barrels and soapboxes to see over heads, others crouched down under hitching posts. The whispers grew amongst the swelling crowd as folks considered possible outcomes¬--and a good number started making bets. The primary expression on people's face, though, was curiosity.

Fact was…folks just weren't sure whose side to be on.  
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Mary wrung her hands, her lips tightly pressed together. She looked around, trying to find Chris amongst the gathering.

Her eyes lit on Vin Tanner first, leaning against a post about ten feet from Ezra's back. His face was expressionless. He also didn't look like he was going to interfere, as both arms were crossed over his chest. He hadn't even unhooked his Mare's Leg.

She ground her teeth together and looked past him to the front of the jail.

Buck stood there, one hand gripped firmly around JD's arm. The kid was arguing with his mentor, but Buck was clearly not listening as JD tried to pry the grip loose.

Well, Mary thought, at least I'm not the only one.

She looked farther, to the church. Josiah was standing on his roof. He had a hammer in one hand, held over his head to block the bright sun, the other was holding onto the steeple, keeping him steady. He was watching, but like Vin and Buck, didn't appear inclined to do anything.

Her eyebrows rose as she saw Nathan also up there, sliding down the roof towards the ladder. He looked to be in a hurry. But was he moving to stop the fight, or just to deal with the aftermath?

"Well?" Ezra said, cocking his head to the side, drawing Mary's attention back to the scene on the street.

"You think yer slick, doncha," Morrison swore.

"Compared to you? Yes."

"Well, it ain't gonna save ya. I've killed yer type a dozen times over. Yer gonna die, and I'm gonna drink my health o'er your dead body."

"Really. My, my," Ezra smiled again, "how poetic."

"You betcha. I gots a poet's soul, my mamma says."

This earned a chuckle from the gambler, and Morrison frowned. "Did you know, Mr. Morrison," Ezra's smile widened, "that most great poets die young?"

Morrison's face clouded further, and his hand gripped his gun more tightly. Ezra kept his loose.

Suddenly, Morrison straightened up, and his hand went away from his gun. He was looking over Ezra's shoulder, showing a hint of fear for the first time.

The gambler's expression showed puzzlement for a moment--until he heard the jangle of spurs walking up behind him. Over in front of the Clarion, Mary sighed in relief.

Ezra glanced to the side, then back at Morrison as soon as the black outfit came into view out of the corner of his eye.

"Ezra," Chris drawled.

"Mr. Larabee."

"You need anything?"

"Not at the moment."

Chris gave him a tiny nod. "Okay then. See you later."

Ezra nodded, his eyes still on Morrison. "Mr. Larabee." Chris stopped at the call, and Ezra's eyes flicked to him. "Remind me to buy you a drink when I'm done."

The tiniest smile lit Chris's lips.

Mary stiffened, watching in shock as Chris stepped between the two men, gave Morrison a look, then kept moving. He strode up onto the boardwalk in front of the saloon, barely noticing as the people there practically climbed over each other to get out of his way, and pushed his way through the batwing doors. In moments, he was gone, almost as if he'd never been there, hidden once more in the shadows.

Morrison stared after him a moment, then looked back at Ezra. The gambler's eyebrows lifted.

"I'm getting bored, Mr. Morrison."

"Fine," Morrison snapped. "Let's see jest how good ya are!"

Fast as a rattler, the stranger grabbed for his gun with his right, his left flying up to push back the hammer.

In far less time, Ezra engaged the derringer and fired.

Morrison gasped, his right hand dropping the gun, grabbing at his bleeding arm. He turned surprised eyes to the gambler, who was smiling back.

"You cheated!" Morrison screamed. "That ain't fair! You cheated!"

"Fair?" Ezra repeated. "You wanted this to be fair?"

"Hell yes! You cheated!"

"Mr. Morrison, you already called me a cheat once…." Ezra pushed the derringer back up his sleeve, walking up to the other man who was half bent over, still gripping his arm where it was bleeding through his fingers. "And now look at you." He reached down and picked up the man's dropped gun with his left hand. "If I were you, I wouldn't do it again."

"You slimy, low-down, no good drifter, why I oughta--"

Ezra socked him with a sharp right-handed punch, sending Morrison flying backwards into the dust. Morrison gasped as he landed hard, his head smacking on the ground with an audible crack, his eyes blinking rapidly as if to clear the fuzz from his vision. The gambler walked forward, stepping into Morrison's line of sight, casting the young man into shadow. There was nothing but contempt on the gambler's face now.

"I do not cheat at cards, Mr. Morrison, and, even if I did, I would not need to against someone who could be outplayed by a blind man. I also do not like to gamble with my life unless I have no choice. You called me out because you were pretty sure you were faster than me. Maybe you are, but, frankly, I saw no reason to find out." His eyes narrowed. "You simply aren't worth my time."

Morrison winced, hissing in pain as he met Ezra's eyes. "Yer just yella," he spat.

Ezra smiled coldly at that, squatting down next to him, and Morrison followed him with his eyes. The gambler let the red coat open enough for Morrison to see the Colt under his left arm, which, along with the Remington and the derringer, told the stranger more than he needed about the man staring him down. Ezra's frosty smile grew.

"Mr. Morrison," he said sweetly, "if I may make a suggestion: If you don't want more trouble, you will leave now."

"Best listen to him, Mister," Vin said, materializing at Ezra's back, his Mare's Leg resting across his arms.

"This town's got enough trouble," Buck agreed, sidling up to stand on Morrison's other side with JD behind him. "Don't need you adding to it." He patted his gunbelt.

"Yeah," JD added unnecessarily. Buck chuckled at that, and the kid shot him a dark look.

"I think," Josiah rumbled, walking towards them from the direction of the church, his hammer still in his left hand, stopping when was about a foot from the top of Morrison's head, "that Mr. Morrison may need more encouragement in that regard, brothers." Morrison had to tip his head back to see in that direction, his Adam's apple shifting uneasily as an upside down Josiah slapped his hammer down onto his right palm.

"No, wait!" Morrison looked confused as he met Josiah's eyes, then Buck's, JD's and Vin's. "He cheated! He's the one that's trouble! Not me!"

"Maybe," Chris said, suddenly appearing at Morrison's feet, "but he's our kind of trouble." He looked to his left then, and Morrison looked that way as well. Nathan had his arms crossed, standing hipshot, his expression one of annoyance as he glared at Morrison.

"Nathan," Chris said, smiling, "patch up Mr. Morrison here, then see he gets going."

"With pleasure," Nathan spat. Morrison's eyes widened, shifting to look at the seven men now staring down at him.

Morrison may have been slow, but he wasn't stupid.

"That's okay, Mr. uh…Nathan, I'm fine. I'm jest gonna go…." Morrison squirmed, pushing himself to his feet and trying to look as small and as harmless as possible. Ezra rose with him, but Morrison wasn't looking directly at him anymore as Josiah slapped the hammer again. "I'm going! I'm goin'!" Morrison squealed, and he proceeded to run as fast as possible away from the seven men, aiming for the livery stable. Laughter floated on the breeze behind him.

"Mr. Larabee," Ezra glanced askance at the gunslinger, a pleased smirk on his face. "I believe I promised you a drink?"

Chris grinned, clapping Ezra on the shoulder. "I think you owe all of us a drink, Mr. Standish." Renewed laughter from the others came with that, and seven men headed towards the saloon, all clearly expecting to get a free drink on Mr. Morrison's lost poker funds.

Mary watched them go, still frowning at the occurrence. Her mind, though, was already piecing together tomorrow's headline: _Trouble Comes to Town_. Second line, smaller print: _And is summarily ejected by the Seven_ No…words are too big…_And is dealt a losing hand._ Better, highlights Ezra's role….

She turned and walked dreamily back into her office, pulling the pencil from behind her ear.

And in the background, the rest of the town drifted back to what they had been doing before, deciding they were very glad these men were (for now) on their side.  
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The End. Thank you for reading!


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